Mad
by storyfyingmaj
Summary: A few weeks ago, I found myself wanting to write a CSI: NY viral-apocalyptic and so we get this. 7 chapters. Originally meant to be a oneshot for Halloween.
1. Table of Contents

_**Mad**_

Originally started as a oneshot special for Halloween – ended up a multichaptered story. A _CSI: NY_/_Invested._ viral-apocalyptic special.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

I. **Day 1  
**II. **Lucky** (Adam, Hawkes)  
III. **Lucy** (Sid, Danny, Lindsay)  
IV.** "I know." **(Mac, Stella)  
V. **Hell** (Jess, Pat)  
VI. **Doors** (Flack, Jen)  
VII. **Days**


	2. I Day 1

**I. **_**Day 1**_

* * *

**Notes: **Jen is an OC that I created for an original story and inserted into _Invested._, my long-term CSI: NY fanfic. Shacks is a former co-worker of Jen from the days she was in D.C. Patrick, Jess's boyfriend, is another OC I created specifically for Jess in _Invested. _This story takes place in an alternate reality of the _Invested. _universe.

* * *

**7:24 am**

A sandy tabby stretches out on the cold asphalt between the trashcans in the alley. She eyes the door in the opposite building, knowing that if she's patient then the strange boy will bring her some things to eat. She sniffs, curling her tail around her hind legs, as she licks her paw.

A scuffling draws her attention and she is quickly on her legs, warily craning her head around the metal can.

A man stands in the mouth of the alley, stumbling in from the sidewalk. She blinks, eyes narrowing at the man's stiff walk. Sniffing, she notices a strange musky smell that causes her to wrinkle her nose. A hiss bubbles in her throat and her lips lift over her teeth.

The man doesn't get very far, tripping on his feet and falling forwards onto his face.

He doesn't get up.

She ventures out from her hiding space, lightly pouncing from one shadow to the next. She pauses, cautiously watching the man at each stop. Judging the man to be no immediate threat, his immobility reassuring her, she trots towards his form.

She curiously steps around his head. Blinking at the odd man's face, she bops him lightly on the nose with her paw. He makes no response and she pulls back her paw, distastefully glancing at the fluids that have caught on her hair.

Just then the man gives a shuddering gasp, forcefully jolting upwards with a push of his palms.

She gives a startled hiss, leaping backwards and retreating to her hiding space.

The next time she ventures a peek down the alley, the man is gone.

**8:02 am**

Mac raised a brow at the black and orange streamers that hung over his head as he stood before his office door. He gave a good-natured snort as he tentatively raised a finger to tap the creped loop that hung dangerously low before his eyes. He had a feeling he knew who the culprit was.

"You like?"

He turned to greet the suspect with a look of unbridled amusement, "It's quite festive."

Stella grinned mischievously as she tossed her rambunctious curls to one side, waving an open container beneath his nose, "Sugar cookie?"

Mac peered down at the cream-colored Jack-O-Lanterns dusted with orange crystals and willingly took one in hand. He gave her a curious glance, "Homemade?"

"Store-bought," she shrugged, waving her free hand dismissively, "They're good."

He took a bite as he nudged open his office door with a shoulder and gave an appreciative nod. "Very good," he agreed, popping the rest of the sweet into his mouth and causing stray sprinkles to fly off his fingers, "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Stella countered cheerfully, maneuvering around him to skip up to his desk and plop the container atop the unfinished paperwork from the night before. She raised a brow at the surprisingly tall pile before giving him an approving nod as she perched herself on the edge of his desk, "I am _proud_ of you for going home last night."

"I figured you would," he chuckled, hanging up his jacket before taking his seat.

She handed him another cookie as she bit into one herself, raising a brow at him, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Mac blinked, absentmindedly biting into the dessert, "I am?"

"_Happy Halloween_, Mac," she smiled evocatively, finishing off the Jack-O-Lantern in her hand.

"Oh," he laughed, leaning back in his chair, "Happy Halloween, Stella."

**8:30 am**

Jess tapped her fingers against the countertop, listening to the droning of the dial tone. She offered a harried smile of thanks to the waitress who slid a saucer of coffee before her.

_Click. _"_Hey, Jess._"

"Hey," she exhaled, relieved, "Make it to the lab alright?"

"_Of course,_" Jen replied, a teasing lilt to her tired tone, "_I told you – you worry too much._"

"I worry just the right amount," Jess admonished, wrinkling her brow.

"_I'm awake,_" the other assured, chuckling, "_I was _completely _lucid when I drove back from the scene._"

"_Surprisingly_," she insisted.

Jess had met the female CSI at a bodega around six, at the start of her shift, but Jen had been there since 11 the night before. What had been expected to be a simple inquiry had escalated into a messy hostage situation, which lasted for a good seven hours, followed by a two hour chase. It had been an exhausting affair that had been handled rather poorly by the sergeant in charge...

"_Well, the same could be said of you, young lady,_" Jen countered, the same playful tone pervading her words, "_You're still on duty._"

"_I'm _fine," Jess replied evenly, "_You're _the one working overtime."

"_Psh,_" the CSI snorted, "_I'll be heading home for a nap as soon as I get this paperwork done._"

Jess took a sip of the warm coffee, "Well, _good_."

Jen chuckled, "_Don't sound so pleased – my shift starts at one today._"

"Right," Jess slapped a hand to her forehead, "What does Flack say?"

"_Nothing yet – he's probably still asleep. His last shift ended at four and he's not on-duty 'til one__._"

Jess noted the worried but defensive edge the other woman's voice took on with an entertained smile, "You're going to be in _so_ much trouble."

"_Shut up,_" Jen snorted, slyly adding, "_How's _Patrick_? He at the diner yet?_"

"How in the – " Jess glanced over her shoulder impulsively. "How do you know I'm in a diner?"

"_It's Thursday – you always meet him for breakfast at _Lucille's_ on Thursdays._"

"I think you're starting to break up, Jen," Jess cleared her throat, straightening up with a self-conscious sweep of her hair, as she mischievously added, "My diner must be going through a tunnel."

"_Hey - !_"

" – get some rest!" she let out before speedily slapping her phone shut.

"Now what was that about?"

Jess winced, a slight flush creeping over her face, as she swiveled to greet her boyfriend who raised a brow at her amusedly. "Hey, Pat," she managed.

"Hey," the tall researcher skillfully held back a burst of laughter as he took the stool next to hers, "Care to share?"

Jess merely offered an embarrassed cough.

**8:49 am**

Danny irritably crossed his arms over his worn undershirt, frowning at the sofa and the cushions he had tossed aside.

Lindsay raised a brow at her husband, stifling a giggle at the furious furrow of his brow as she continued ironing his shirt. She cleared her throat, casually asking, "Looking for something?"

"Yeah," he replied, rubbing his nose. "My glasses."

She gave another swipe of the iron before setting it aside and flourishing the freshly pressed shirt. Walking around the ironing board, she shook out his shirt with a chuckle, "They're on your head, Danny."

He blinked, feeling for the offensive object and hurriedly pulling them off of his head. "Not a word, Montana," he said gruffly, pushing them onto his face before slipping into the proffered shirt.

"About what?" she shot back innocently, pecking him on the cheek, "You better hurry up or – "

She was interrupted by the chipper high-tone of their eight year old, calling from the front door, "Daddy! I'm going to be late!"

"Looks like you're going to be in trouble," Lindsay teased, grabbing his badge and gun off the coffee table and handing them to him.

"Not if I can help it," he countered, pocketing his badge and clipping the holster upon his belt before ducking in for a smooch upon the lips.

**8:56 am**

Busboy Paul has settled comfortably into his tedious relationship with the trash. He drags out the absurdly large black bags, hefting one in each pallid hand. He gives a self-conscious cough as he shivers in the cool morning air. Quickening his pace, he drops a bag on the ground to lift the trashcan lid and dumps a bag in the waiting container. The second bag is dealt with just as quickly.

He straightens up, reaching for the small bag in his apron pocket, and scans the length of the alley. The fried fish is still warm, the grease spreading upon the brown surface of the bag. He wonders where the cat might be.

He hears a rustling behind him and turns with a ready smile that quickly fades as he notices the tabby's ready stance – her eyes are narrowed, her teeth bared, and her claws outstretched. He takes an unconscious step backwards as the cat launches herself at him, a feral growl bursting from her throat.

**9:22 am**

"Jesus," Adam let out eyeing the vic's face with widened eyes.

The man's face was covered in a crusting, crimson fluid that had flowed from all of the orifices in his head. It seemed too thin to be blood but Adam could only assume that it was though there was something odd about the way it looked. Then there was the man's constricted, _red_ eyes that considerably creeped him out.

Hawkes leaned forward, one knee digging into the cool cement, and eyed the vic's dried, cracked lips as he grimly greeted the other, "Hey, Adam."

"What happened to him?" he nervously let out, dropping his kit to the ground and crouching next to Hawkes. He then noticed the man had on a face mask in addition to his latex gloves. That simple addition unsettled him considerably.

The CSI let out a sigh as he directed his attention towards the vic's arms, "Honestly, I'm not sure."

"No ideas?" Adam blinked at him, snapping on a pair of gloves.

"One," he glanced in the other man's direction, waving a finger in the direction of his own face, "Put on a mask."

"Just about to," Adam nodded, quickly scrounging up a mask for himself, "What's the one idea?"

Hawkes answer was simple and uncertain, "Rabies."

The younger man blinked furiously, his eyes widening even more above his white mask, "Rabies?!"

"Like I said," Hawkes looked back towards the man's arms, "I'm not sure – just an idea – plus there are a lot of inconsistencies."

"Isn't it, like, impossible to get rabies in this time and age?" Adam asked anxiously, impulsively taking a shuffle backwards.

"Nothing's impossible," the other replied, delicately lifting the vic's wrist. His eyes narrowed at the wounds in the vic's flesh, noting the lesions with both curiosity and confusion.

Adam shuffled back, closer to Hawkes, as he noticed the man's continued focus, "Did you find something?"

Hawkes shifted slightly, pointing at and showing the bloated bite marks to his partner, "These wounds are self-inflicted."

**9:31 am**

Jess glanced over at the man sitting next to her on the bench. She smiled fondly at the furrow in his brow that deepened as he continued to scan the email on his phone, his concentration intensifying with each word.

She jumped to her feet, shoving her hands into her jacket pockets.

Pat looked up from his phone, raising his black brows, "Going somewhere?"

"Yep," she gave a mock frown, leaning over to squarely look into his blue eyes and tapping her finger on the device, "I'm not competing with that sleek beauty you've got in your hands."

He laughed amusedly, his face relaxing considerably, and quickly pocketed the handheld. "Look," he waved his empty hands, "You have my complete focus."

"Huh," she sniffed, her lips pursing into a mischievous half-grin.

"Come here," Pat chuckled, reaching out with a long arm and pulling her towards him with a tug on her belt.

Jess went rather willingly, settling next to him and hooking her arm through his. She knocked her head against his shoulder, reprimanding him teasingly, "Come on, you spend one morning with me in the wilderness – enjoy the fresh air!"

"I'm not sure if Central Park counts as 'the wilderness,'" he replied wryly, glancing at the brunette beauty.

"Compared to your sterile laboratory?" she raised a brow, a mischievous twist upon her lips.

Pat paused, pursing his lips, "Okay, fine."

Jess laughed.

**9:45 am **

Jen wearily leaned against the wall as she slipped off her shoes in the foyer. Dropping her heels to the hardwood, she noticed the pair of male shoes that she had looked over as she had stumbled into her home. A smile crept over her tired features as she stepped up onto the landing, calling out, "Don?"

"In the kitchen," he called back.

She dropped her bag on the nearest sofa before making her way into the fluorescence, her feet sliding onto cool, laminated floors. Don was standing before the stove, moving fried eggs from the pan to a pair of plates he had precariously balanced on his arm. "Why, hello there," Jen chuckled, leaning against the doorframe.

He set the pan down and gave her a broad grin, jerking his brow upwards, "Aren't I impressive?"

"Quite," she laughed, quickly stepping forward and taking the plates. She pivoted, lightly placing the warm plates on the countertop before turning back towards him. "It's a miracle you haven't broken anything yet," she teased, stepping into his outstretched arm.

"I resent that," he pouted playfully, landing a light kiss upon her forehead.

She merely waved a finger in the direction of the tiny convection oven, amusedly wrinkling her nose at the faint burning smell, "Toast."

"Oh shoot," he let out, quickly reaching out and pulling down the door. Sliding out the tray with her cooking chopsticks, he cursorily inspected the damage before announcing, "It's safe!"

Jen snorted at his antics, ducking under his arm and moving towards the coffeemaker on the island. "You silly man," she commented, sweeping the pitcher out of the machine.

"_Your _silly man," Don reminded, dropping the deeply browned pieces of toast on the plates.

"Yeah, yeah," she teased, dancing around him to grab mugs out of the dishwasher.

**9:48 am**

Hawkes knelt before the mouth of the alley, picking up the black leather wallet splayed out on the asphalt. He noted the streaks of blood that ran from the dark tarmac to the light sidewalk and knew that he would have to investigate the alley more in a moment.

Flipping open the wallet, Hawkes got to his feet. He quickly caught sight of a driver's license which told him that their vic's name was Michael C. Nixon. Further perusing led to the discovery of an ID card for a _Dr. _Michael C. Nixon, head researcher of Benton Pharmaceuticals.

Hawkes suddenly felt a wave of uneasiness that he tried to pinpoint an origin for but was distracted by a horrified yell from around the corner. He quickly clapped the wallet shut and pivoted, sprinting down the sidewalk back towards the crime scene.

**9:59 am**

Stella frowned as she skimmed over the missing persons reports. Facial reconstruction had given them a face to the skull she and Lindsay had discovered the previous night at the abandoned clothing factory and she needed to place a name to that face. It was hard-going. Having already gone through the reports for the past few months, she delved further back.

"How are you holding up?"

She gave an exaggerated sigh, raising a brow at Mac who stood in her doorway, "Can we not ask that?"

He gave a sympathetic chuckle before quickly jerking his head towards the elevators "Well, you can put it away for now – something's come up."

Stella shut the folder in her hand, pushing back from her desk and grabbing her jacket from the rack.

Mac answered her curious glance with a purse of his lips, stepping out of her doorway and starting his walk towards the lifts, "Complications at a scene Hawkes is at right now. He didn't sound so good."

She furrowed her brow worriedly as she fell into step with him, "What happened?"

"Apparently, the vic – who Hawkes _assures_ is dead – attacked Adam," Mac frowned.

She blinked confusedly at his wording, "What do you mean?"

He sighed, tapping the call button before giving her a pointed look, "The man is dead but managed to sink his teeth into Adam's arm?"

"The vic _bit _him?"

"Down to the bone," Mac confirmed, "Then tried to throttle him."

"What the hell?" the surprise was evident upon Stella's face, "But how could Hawkes miss the fact that the vic was still alive?"

"I have no idea," he scratched his neck, stepping into the elevator, "But he also mentioned some peculiarities with the victim's body – unexplainable bleeding, bloodshot eyes, saliva buildup..."

She followed him, rubbing a hand over her mouth – her brow creasing in concentration, "But that sounds like…"

"Let's not make any conclusions just yet," Mac glanced over at her seriously, "Danny and Lindsay are on their way to the M.E.'s office and Jen's meeting us at the site."

**10:07 am**

Patty is a terrier. He likes to take walks, particularly in Central Park. There is a tree in Central Park he likes to circle around. A strange habit to be sure but it's incredibly satisfying for Patty when he runs around the tree until he gets dizzy. He sits patiently at his owner's feet until she unhooks his leash from his collar. He ignores her called out warnings and quickly scampers into the park, heading straight for his tree.

He skids to a stop, his short legs folding beneath him.

There is an intruder hunched up in the roots of his tree.

He gives a bark – one, he realizes with annoyance, that sounds much too petulant to be formidable. He sniffs self-consciously, taking in the rusty smell of the tabby's pelt, and finds himself scrunching up his face in disgust.

Patty gives another bark, one stronger than his last, and adds a growl for good measure.

The dirty cat merely gives a savage howl of her own, hurling herself forward.

He gives a startled bay and quickly rolls away but does not get away in time. He whimpers unhappily as the cat's claws make contact with his hind leg before he sprints back towards his owner.

**10:12 am**

Jen quickly hurried towards the police line, flashing her badge before ducking under the tape. Flack, right behind her, quickly stepped in place between two of the officers, joining them in urging away bystanders.

"Hawkes," she called out, jogging up to the man who was animatedly gesticulating at a pair of suited men in sunglasses.

He glanced over his shoulder, his look of consternation relaxing slightly, "Jen – "

The taller of the two in black cut him off, stepping in her direction with a frown, "Who are you?"

She felt a flash of annoyance at the man's haughty, aggressive tone but coolly stepped up next to Hawkes, almost lazily lifting her jacket to show them her badge, and countered, "Detective Jennifer Lee, NYPD Crime Lab." Then, almost as a snide afterthought, she added, "What's the FBI doing here?"

Jen could see the man narrowing his eyes at her from behind his shades. "What – ?"

"Your attitude," she interjected evenly, jerking a thumb over her shoulder, "Plus the government license plates on the very discrete, unmarked van that you've got parked around the corner."

The man's jaw stiffened but his blonde partner pulled off his own sunglasses and politely offered his hand, "Special Agent Thomas Carter, Detective Lee." He glanced at his friend, "This is Special Agent Marcus Grady. We're actually Homeland." He gave her a plastic beam, "We're here to assess the situation."

"I bet you are," she fixed him with a thin smile, tugging on Hawkes's arm and turning away. She swiftly strode towards the sidewalk where the CSI technicians were still at work.

Hawkes quickly caught up with her, an amused smirk upon his lips, "You just couldn't help it, could you?"

"He was annoying," she wrinkled her nose, exhaling deeply, "How long have they been here?"

"They got here just after the bus took Adam to the hospital," he replied, slipping out his phone.

Jen nodded, glancing at the bloody cement, "Do we know who the vic is?"

"Dr. Michael C. Nixon," Hawkes answered, tapping away, "I'm texting Mac the address." He jerked his head in the direction of the men in black, "No use in them coming here and getting stonewalled too."

"Yeah – hopefully they'll be able to get things moving," Jen agreed, glancing at her phone, "I'm going to go check on Adam – "

" – nah, I'll go," Hawkes offered a half-grin, raising a brow, "I'll leave the fun with the Feds to you."

She twisted her lips, pulling a face, "Ha, ha, ha."

**10:24 am**

Brittany is talking with the other waitresses, waiting for the manager to come speak with them. She looks up and notices the busboy carrying boxes. Her brow furrows slightly – there is something cumbersome about his actions and she notes the slight flush that is creeping over the pale boy's face.

She gets to her feet and maneuvers around the tables. Reaching out, she pats him lightly on the wrist and is surprised to find how hot his skin is. She notices the makeshift bandage over his hand as she slips the box out of it. "Are you okay?" she asks concernedly.

Paul takes a few slow blinks, slowly nodding in response, "I'm going… to go sit down for a bit."

Brittany notices the glassy sheen to his green eyes and nods, "Maybe that'd be a good idea…" She sees how he sways on his feet and follows closely behind, box in hand. He makes his way into the storage closet, plopping down on the small step-ladder. She places the container on one of the shelves then goes back to the front to grab the last box.

"You're a saint, Brittany," one of the other girls drolly calls out.

She merely rolls her eyes, returning to the storage room. Sliding the box next to the previous one, she glances over at Paul who is breathing heavily. His head dipping down, his dark hair hangs before his face. She reaches for him, "Paul?" A growl rumbles from the boy and she immediately retracts her hand, eyes widening. "The hell, Paul," she stammers, stepping backwards.

The boy raises his head and she notices how dark his emerald irises have gotten, how red his whites are. He continues his growl and she sees his eyes fix upon her.

Something in her head tells her to run.

Brittany grabs for one of the pans on the rack next to her just as Paul leaps up from the ladder. She lets out a shriek as she swings blindly. A dull thud falls upon her ears as the edge of the thick saucepan meets the boy's head. She doesn't stick around to see if Paul is okay. Throwing aside the pan, she darts out of the room and slams the door.

**10:40 am**

Sid hovers over the sink, distastefully wiping off the last of the blood from his face.

"You alright, Sid?"

He looked up, squinting against the water to meet Danny's concerned glance. "Quite," he replied, wrinkling his nose, "Nothing a little water won't fix."

"What happened?" Danny raised a brow, handing the man a towel.

Sid jerked a thumb over his shoulder at the body of Michael C. Nixon. "He's quite the juicy one," he said dryly, tossing the towel in the bin.

The other man chuckled, giving a shake of his head.

"Hey, Lindsay," Sid nodded at the female CSI who walked in.

She nodded back, wandering towards the examination table, "What've we got?"

"Always so eager," Danny snorted, sidling up to her. She rolled her eyes, jabbing her elbow in his side.

The M.E. set his glasses on his nose, peering over them at the couple, as he settled on the opposite side, "Shall I give you two a moment?"

"No," Danny assured rapidly, gesturing enthusiastically with his hands, "Please – go ahead."

Lindsay gave another roll of her eyes, wrinkling her nose and all but sticking her tongue out at him.

Sid chuckled, shaking his head, "You two…"

"So," Lindsay cleared her throat, directing a pleasant grin in the older man's direction, "COD?"

He clasped his hands together as he offered a shrug, "Massive organ failure."

**11: 11 am**

Flack frowned, stepping forward as a truck headed straight for them. He waved his arms annoyedly, calling out, "Sir! I'm going to have to ask you to turn around!"

The truck stopped a foot away.

Flack approached the driver's door, glaring up at the frumpy man from behind his sunglasses, "How did you get past the roadblock?"

"Because we're authorized to."

He turned, blinking at the bright yellow hazmat suit that greeted him. The man lowered his hood as he came around the front of the truck, showing a rather stern, aged face. Flack stepped away from the truck, frowning at the newcomer, "Who's '_we_'?"

"CDC," called out a reasonably smug voice. Flack shot a glance towards the police line, noting the tall Homeland agent's presence at the police line with some irritation. The man continued, "They're with us. Let them through, detective."

Flack exhaled crossly, turning towards the officers at the line and gesticulating, "Let them through!"

**11:24 am**

Adam furrowed his brow, anxiously rubbing the hand of his uninjured arm over his chest. He exhaled deeply, trying to ease the buildup in his chest. An uncomfortable stuffiness had settled in his body, making it difficult for him to breathe comfortably. He also found himself growing anxious – agitated, even.

He barely noticed Hawkes entering the room.

"Hey – you alright?"

Adam looked up, blinking confusedly as his vision began to throb – multiplying, enlarging, and extending the image of Hawkes's concerned expression. He gave his head a little shake, deliberately forming his words, "Yeah… I'm fine."

"You don't look so good, man," Hawkes frowned, reaching towards him.

Adam narrowed his eyes, managing to focus on Hawkes's face, but frowned as he noticed the muffled quality of their words. He slowly raised a hand, sluggishly knocking away the other's, "I'm good…"

Hawkes uncertainly withdrew his hand, "Okay…"

"I'm…" Adam raised an arm to his head, the action seeming comically slow to him, "Think you could get me some water…?"

"Yeah," Hawkes nodded readily, backing out quickly, "Of course – be right back."

Adam shut his eyes with another deep sigh.

**11:38 am**

Mac tossed aside the packet of papers he had been sifting through with a sigh. The past hour had been quite unrewarding, only revealing that their vic was quite unorganized and had been fired from his position at Benton Pharmaceuticals two weeks prior. From what Mac could tell from the state of the basement apartment and garbage, Michael C. Nixon spent his days holed up in his living room watching TV and eating frozen dinners.

"Mac?"

He glanced over his shoulder, calling back, "What is it, Stella?"

"You might want to come here," she replied, a slightly distracted edge to her voice.

He quickly made his way to the bedroom. "What did you find?" he asked, stepping into the room.

Stella raised a hand, pointing at the far wall. Mac first noticed the desk lamp in her hand then the gaping hole in the wall she directed his attention towards. "Yes, I did that," she filled in unabashedly, "Go look."

He stepped towards the thin plaster, slipping out his flashlight. Shining the light into the hole, he peered in.

"What the…" Mac glanced over his shoulder at Stella with a surprised raise of his brow.

"I heard," she gave a wrinkle of her nose, making her way to his side, "_Squealing_ coming from the wall then noticed the subtle color difference of this wall and the other walls."

"Can I see that?" he gestured at the desk lamp still in her hands.

She handed it over agreeably, "Knock yourself out."

Mac hefted the heavy metal appliance, stepping away from Stella and swinging at the wall. He continued his attack on the plaster until a decent sized opening had been made, better revealing Stella's discovery: a home laboratory.

She flipped on her flashlight, aiming it at one of the closest machines, "See that?"

He nodded, pursing his lips, "Benton Pharm emblem. They had good reason to let him go it seems."

"What I'm more concerned about is _that_," she moved the light to the sidewall at the mounted shelves of cages. The far wall came alive with shrill screeching as the light hit the rats residing on them.

**11:42 am**

"You know, I ought to head back," Pat glanced at his watch.

Jess smirked, shoving him slightly, "Trying to escape from me?"

"No!" he blinked defensively, "It's just – "

He was cut off by a startled scream.

Jess was on her feet in a second, pulling out her gun. She ran towards the source, sprinting past curious dog-walkers and runners. A chorus of barks welcomed her to the clearing.

A short-haired brunette was pushing backwards on her hands and feet, scrambling away from a small black terrier that was rushing at her. Jess saw that the woman's hand was a mess of blood and dirt, a result of the dog's snarling jaws she was sure. Other dogs swarmed the path that encircled the grass clearing, barking maniacally at the little terrier and straining against their leashes. She shot once into the air, startling the bystanders into running away, dragging their heaving pets with them.

The terrier froze, giving the woman time to get to her feet and clamber away. Jess rushed onto the grass, aiming her gun at the small animal – not entirely sure of what to do.

Pat shouted out to her from the edge, "I've called Animal Control, Jess – just keep your eye on it!"

"What do you think I'm doing, babe?" she replied distractedly, keeping her eyes on the tiny dog.

The terrier cocked its head, its nose twitching violently. Jess noticed the red sheen in its beady eyes with a degree of aversion. It gave a bark before trotting away at an unbelievable pace. Startled by how quickly the thing's short legs were going, she barely had time to get off a few shots at it before it was gone.

**11:46 am**

Hawkes hurried into the room, pitcher in hand, "Hey – sorry I took so long." He snorted exasperatedly, pouring water into the cup, "The nurses were giving me a load of protocol bull…"

He trailed off, noticing the empty bed.

"What the," he lowered his arms with a frown. "Adam – ?"

A hoarse yell from the other room sent the items in his hands scattering as he pulled out his glock and ran out.

**11:53 am**

Noticing the confusion on the face of the lab tech in front of her, Lindsay looked over her shoulder in time to see a crowd of men in gray-green hazmat suits exiting the elevators. She hurried into the hallway, "What is going – ?"

She stopped talking as she noticed the large weapons in their hands.

"Ma'am," one called out, aiming his rifle at her, "I'm going to have to ask you to stay back."

"You don't need to ask," she replied wryly, eyeing the speaker with a furrowed brow, "Who are you?"

"CDC, ma'am," he answered readily, "Are you Detective Lindsay Monroe?"

She frowned, nodding bewilderedly, "Why?"

He ignored her, "I'm going to have to ask you to take us to the M.E.'s office, ma'am."

"The M.E.'s – ?"

" – is your husband still on the premises?" the man continued tersely.

Lindsay's frown deepened, pursing her lips as she gave another nod.

"Please take us to the M.E.'s office, ma'am."

Though the man took care to keep his tone calm and reasonable, there was a sense of urgency to his business-like words that concerned Lindsay. She jerked her chin towards the lifts from which they came, her tone just as brisk, "Different floor."

**12:02 pm**

"Thanks, Shacks," Jen sighed, hanging up the phone and swinging back towards Flack.

He raised a brow at her, arms crossed over his chest, "What'd he say?"

"Apparently, there are quarantines going on in L.A. and Atlanta," she replied grimly. "D.C.'s preparing for the worst."

He eyed the rubber-suited team, "Quarantines on the same day that the CDC shows up here?"

"My thoughts exactly," she frowned, striding towards Carter and Grady. "Hey!"

Grady turned swiftly at her bellow, fixing her with an irritated narrow of his eyes. "Yes, Detective Lee?" Carter pleasantly replied, walking a ways to meet her.

She spoke in a measured tone, resting a hand upon her hip, "Who is it?"

"What do you mean?" he responded squarely.

Jen exhaled deeply, glancing at Flack who settled by her side. "We know about the quarantines in L.A. and Atlanta," he filled in, his tone just as challenging. "I think what Detective Lee is asking is who's behind the bioterrorist attack?"

Grady was terrible at hiding his emotions. Though Carter merely raised a brow, the taller man burst out angrily, "Who told you?"

"Does it matter?" Jen countered, flexing her jaw, "Who are we dealing with? _What _are we dealing with?"

Carter gave his partner a scathing glare before returning his complacent expression towards her, "I'm afraid – "

" – don't give me that, 'above your pay-grade'-'beyond your jurisdiction'-'exceeding your clearance' bullshit," she snapped, "We're talking about a _virus_, aren't we?"

"How - ?!" Grady sputtered. Carter shot his partner another withering look.

Flack snorted, giving a jerk of his chin, "Any geek who's watched a number of zombie-apocalypse movies could have told you that."

"Like, Detective Flack so eloquently worded – it doesn't take a genius to figure that one out," Jen pursed her lips, narrowing her eyes at Carter. "Stop fucking around."

**12:20 pm**

Stella worriedly looked down at the carrier in her lap, pulling a face at the scurrying within, "Any chance we could pick up the pace, Mac?"

He glanced over at her and the little cage, "Do you want to put that in the trunk?"

"No," she shook her head vehemently, "We can't risk the jostling – it might free the latch."

Mac eyed the backed up traffic, "I don't think we're going anywhere anytime soon."

Stella followed his gaze, frowning slightly, "Agreed." She glanced at him, "Want me to check it out?"

He offered a half-grin, unlocking the car doors, "I've got it."

Stepping out of the car, Mac noticed a few of the other drivers agitatedly standing outside their vehicles and speaking on their phones. Now on his feet, he could see that a road block had been set up a block down. He ducked his head, looking into the car, "I think we're going to have to walk."

Stella was peering at her finger with a wrinkle of her nose, her lips turning downwards.

"Stell?" he let out concernedly.

"Yeah," she said, shaking out her hand, "I heard you." She put the carrier on his seat, giving him a grin, "You get to carry Remy."

Mac chuckled, taking the handle, "I wouldn't want this thing anywhere near my food."

"Agreed," she snorted, getting out of the car.

**12:34 pm**

Lindsay heaved a sigh, staring down at the large vehicles surrounding the building. The CDC had proclaimed them under quarantine having been exposed to something from the body. They hadn't provided any details, warning them away with their large weapons, and had retreated very speedily after giving them the conditions of the quarantine: they would be locked in here for the next 24 hours and would be released if they were symptom free. Not knowing what they were dealing with, she had no idea what to expect; however, one thing was certain, judging from the attitudes of the men in hazmat suits, there was something very serious going on.

She wondered what they were going to do about the crime scene – it was an open location, after all: what about the other CSIs and technicians that had been in close proximity with the body? How would they – ?

A wretched gag made her turn away from the window.

Lindsay worriedly glanced at Sid, stepping towards him, "Are you okay?"

He clapped a hand over his mouth, raising the other to stop her, as he hurried over to the sink. She winced as he retched violently, the vomit pattering against the metal basin. Sid gave a groan, straightening up, and turned on the faucet. Washing out the bile in his mouth, he spoke weakly over the running water, "You probably should stay away from me…"

"You okay, Sid?"

Lindsay turned to greet Danny who had on a concerned expression similar to hers.

"Let's not ask that question anymore," Sid winced, finally stepping away from the sink, "Quite counterproductive. What did you find?"

Danny sighed, scratching the back of his head with his free hand, "All of the entrances are covered."

"What about the garage?" Lindsay asked hopefully.

He shook his head, "Head honcho sent in a team of men."

"You must have found _something_," Sid voiced, tilting his head slightly, "Otherwise, you'd be considerably more pissed."

Danny gave a light chuckle, "Quite observant, Hammerback."

Lindsay slapped a hand on her husband's chest, frowning, "Tell!"

"Ow, Linds," he wrinkled his nose, glancing down at her.

Sid coughed, painfully clearing his throat, "Well?"

"The door next to the service elevator is only guarded by two men," Danny informed, "Then if we can get past them, we can – "

" – two men with semi-automatic rifles," Lindsay reminded with a sigh.

"Better than four men or eight men, my dear," Sid pointed out, clapping a hand to his mouth. "Hold on," he muttered, swinging towards the sink.

**12:43 pm**

"Pat," Jess frowned, patting him on the arm, as she eyed the approaching rubber suits. "You said you called Animal Control?"

"I had to call 9-1-1," he looked at her curiously, "They said they'd send Animal Control."

She jerked her chin in the direction of the approaching party, "Since when does Animal Control wear hazmat suits?"

Pat followed her gaze, a frown forming on his own lips, "Since nev – are those guns?"

The men suddenly started running, plodding through the grass in their heavy boots. The one at the head of the pack yelled out agitatedly, pulling up his rifle, "Ma'am – step aside!"

"What the – ?" Jess let out, eyes widening.

"Get away from the woman!" one of the other men bellowed.

Jess glanced over at Pat who looked at her just as confusedly. She then remembered the woman from earlier – Caroline, the terrier's owner. She looked over her shoulder to see Caroline getting up from the bench.

There was something odd about her movements.

"Pat – "

By then the men had reached them, jostling them to the side. Stumbling, Jess steadied herself by grabbing ahold of Pat's arm. He quickly tugged her a few feet away from the gunmen who lined up, weapons aimed at the woman.

Jess furrowed her brow, fiercely yelling at them, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Jess," Pat said carefully, pulling on her sleeve, "The woman."

She looked towards Caroline, noticing the strange way her head twitched – the stiffness of her body.

"Oh my god…"

The woman raised her head, turning her bloodshot eyes on the men before her. She let out a furious scream, spittle running from her parted mouth.

There was no warning: the men open-fired.

**12:52 pm**

"We were supposed to have a team on-site_ hours_ ago," Carter hissed into his phone.

Flack could hear the panicked tones of the male on the other end, "_They didn't get there in time – _"

" – _really_?" Carter snapped, "Seal the entrances. Set up a perimeter. _Contain it._"

"_But__,__ sir – !_"

The man slammed his phone shut, irritably meeting Flack's raised brow, "It seems that your friend has been infected."

Jen furrowed her brow, "Adam?"

"Yes," Carter pursed his lips, running a hand over his mouth, "He's attacked a number of patients and hospital personnel already."

"What about Hawkes?" she let out urgently, "Has anyone heard from Detective Hawkes?"

"Not that I know of," the Homeland agent shook his head, "But if he's in the hospital – I'm sorry."

"You're leaving him in there to die," Flack filled in incredulously, narrowing his eyes at the other man, "Him and anyone else who might be okay."

Carter straightened up, setting his jaw, "We have no other choice."

"What a load of – "

" – he's right, Don," Jen cut him off reluctantly, keeping her eyes on Carter, "They – we – don't have a choice. The virus spreads too quickly and anyone who's been infected – "

" – but we have no idea if they've all been infected," Flack let out in frustration.

"But we can't take the chance that they've _not_ been," Jen bit her lip, turning to him, "The virus is extremely contagious – transferred by bites and bodily fluids – and the incubation period is only a few hours. Plus, _there is no cure._"

Carter cleared his throat, speaking up, "We never said that there isn't – "

" – the symptoms of this virus are very similar – _too similar_ – to the rabies virus," Jen glared at the man, "Though we might be able to prevent other infections with a vaccine, we can't do anything for someone who's already showing symptoms." She gave a resigned shrug, a hard edge to her words, "But what does it matter? You don't even have a vaccine."

"You – "

" – don't bother," Flack snapped, cutting off Carter, before he locked eyes with Jen, exchanging a serious glance. He continued to speak to the Homeland agent, "You don't even know what it is exactly – how in the world would you have a vaccine?"

**1:02 pm**

Lindsay worriedly eyed Sid as he took a series of shuddering breaths, leaning against the wall. Danny put a hand on his shoulder, "Hey – "

Sid forcefully pulled away from the other man, giving a shake of his head, "I'd stay away."

"Sid – "

" – I'm pretty sure what I've got what they're afraid we've all got," he spoke quickly, swallowing hard, "I'm not going anywhere – I'd likely spread whatever this is."

Lindsay and Danny both noticed the pallid tint to his face, the sheen of sweat on his skin – they looked at each other uncertainly.

"You two kids need to get out of here," Sid managed a half-grin, "Think about Lucy."

Lindsay looked over her shoulder at the hallway leading towards the door, placing a hand on Danny's arm. "He's right," she said resignedly, returning her gaze to the two men, "We can't risk taking him out into the open if he's infected."

Danny pursed his lips, stressing, "We don't know if they've got a – "

" – what?" Sid chuckled, giving a haggard cough, "Some kind of cure? Come on, Messer – you're smarter than that."

He sighed, glancing at his wife. They all knew that it was unlikely that the CDC knew what they were dealing with which, in turn, meant that they had no idea how to combat it: anyone infected wouldn't survive – hence the severity of the quarantine.

Lindsay once again wondered how they had contained the crime scene.

"You two head to the door," Sid exhaled deeply, "I'll buy you some time."

Danny and Lindsay exchanged glances.

**1:14 pm**

Mac and Stella had made it a few blocks before stopping in front of a coffee shop. The streets were pretty much the same everywhere: packed and blocked off. The officers had no idea why the road blocks were so intense and dispatch had only provided cryptic answers – Mac was getting a bit worried.

"Mac."

He looked up to see Stella waving her phone at him, "Hm?"

"It's Jen," she said, handing him the device, "Says she couldn't reach you on yours."

He took it, patting himself down with a free hand, "Hey – sorry, I must have left my phone in the car."

"_Where are you?_" Jen replied confusedly.

"On the streets, walking to the lab," he answered, sticking his neck out to glance down the block. "There're roadblocks – "

" – _shit. Roadblocks?_"

Mac furrowed his brow at her apprehensive tone, "Yeah – what's wrong?"

"_I think we're running out of time,_" Jen replied distractedly, letting out an exasperated sigh.

"What – ?" bewilderment crept over him.

She pushed ahead quickly, "_What did you find at the apartment?_"

"Not much," he answered readily, looking towards Stella – it was then that he noticed the slight flush creeping across her concerned expression. "Trash and remnants of a lab but no research – only the lab rats were left."

"_I__'__m assuming you took one with you__._"

"Yeah," he glanced at the carrier on the table, "We're going to have to run a few tests but – "

" – _come on, Mac__,_" she let out tersely, "_You know what it is._"

He thought of the red eyes, the distinctly hostile behaviors of the rats… He spoke hesitantly, "There are some discrepancies – "

" – _it may have been altered but you know what it is,_" she said firmly, the anxious strain still in her voice. "_You__'__ve got to kill it __–__ the rat._"

"What?" Mac frowned, beginning to become a little uneasy, "We've got to – "

" – _run tests?_" she aggressively cut him off, "We don't have time_. Plus, the lab__'__s under quarantine __–__ you can__'__t go there._"

"What's going on, Jen?" he said seriously, meeting eyes with Stella. She had on a slight frown, her brow knitted in worry. He pushed on firmly, "What's _wrong_? What's happened?"

Jen exhaled deeply, hesitating, "_I think the government's trying to lock down New York__._"

"What?"

"_Homeland and CDC are on site,_" she spoke quickly, "_Whatever killed Nixon is spreading __–__ his body was lying there for a while before we showed up so that left quite a window of opportunity for other people and/or animals to come in contact with it._"

"How many cases?" he let out quietly.

"_Two that we know of __–__ Adam and one in Central Park __–__ but they __–__ we __–__ have no actual idea __–__ especially since the infected animal__'__s run off. There__'__s no telling how many more are lurking around._"

Mac instinctively reached for Stella's hand, grasping it tightly, as he spoke, "So you're telling me that it's already beyond containment." She looked at him slight surprise but returned his grip.

"_I don__'__t think the government__'__s got any surprises in store for us,_" Jen replied regretfully, "_The Homeland guys look about ready to leave._" She paused before cautiously adding, "_You should get out of the city, Mac __–__ you and Stell._"

**1:18 pm**

He wakes up to the sharp scent of onions. He opens his eyes, blinking slowly in the fluorescence, and is on his feet in one quick shove. He notes the pounding in his head with a certain annoyance, wincing as he irritably brings his fingers over the bump that has formed on the side of his head.

A snarl rumbles in his throat, his shoulders tensely rising, as anger quickly washes over him.

He is furious.

He narrows his eyes, rapidly looking around the room. It only takes a few moments for him to notice the metal racks, their stacked structure, and the vent opening above them.

He barely registers the odd objects tumbling to the ground as he scampers onto the shelves, climbing towards the grated vent. He reaches out with an arm, shoving his fingers through the slated blinds to tear the covering off.

A sizeable opening.

He leaps, pulling himself into the metal tin, and begins to crawl – a bit pleased with his speed. He follows the scent, wrinkling his nose at the added garlic.

And beneath the heated onions and garlic, the smell of humans.

Pushing against the metal walls, it doesn't take long for him to reach the other opening.

A swift drop of his heel pops the grating out, sending it clattering against the tiles. Startled yells greet him and he lets out a grunt of satisfaction before he throws himself through the hole.

Palms pressing into the cool floor, he cocks his head, twisting his neck around to glare at the occupants of this bright, white room who stare down at him in shock.

He moves.

**1:20 pm**

"_What are you saying, Jen?_"

There was a certain understanding in Mac's question.

Jen turned, eyeing Carter as he continued to bark out orders at the armed CDC team that had come to join them, before she continued with a sigh, "Homeland's packing up but Homeland or CDC – the government's not going to pull out anyone who's been in close proximity to the virus. You need to get out before they send in the military."

"_Jen, what __–_"

She whirled around as a shrill scream rang out from a block down. She quickly caught sight of Flack and a number of the CDC guys rounding the corner of the building with their guns drawn and lurched into a sprint, pulling out her own weapon.

"_Jen - ?!_"

"I'll call you back, Mac," she gasped out speedily, slamming her phone shut and pocketing it, as she ran down the sidewalk, aware of Carter and Grady heading a pack of CDC personnel close behind. She saw how tense Flack was even from a distance, his brow furrowing violently – she forced herself to move faster.

"BACK THE HELL UP!" he bellowed.

Turning the corner, she quickly saw the source of his consternation.

**1:23 pm**

Flack eyed the pasty-faced male standing before him a few feet away with severe apprehension. Tall and thin, the young man didn't look capable of the messy work on the female in his hands.

His curled, bloodied fingers wrapped around the woman's loose, bent neck said otherwise.

Flack noted the stiff tilt of the man's body, his parted, hissing mouth, his wide, bloodshot eyes – there was something distinctly _wrong_ about him.

An involuntary shiver of revulsion swept over him as the man turned his crimson gaze upon him.

"What the _fuck_ are you doing?!" Grady barked furiously, slamming a hand against the back of the man next to Flack. "_Shoot _the motherfucker!"

Flack afforded himself a glance at the intolerable agent.

A few seconds that quickly disappeared in a flash of three gunshots.

* * *

* I commend you if you made it all the way to the end – I'm feeling rather meh about this first chapter. I spent so much time on it and it didn't come out as I would've liked it to – it's quite flat I'm afraid. I'm fixing up the other chapters; hopefully, they'll come out better… I haven't had much time for writing these past weeks and what time I had I put into this story and personal writing (diary, reviews, originals) but I'll be getting to my other CSI: NY fics (_Invested._, _One Shot_ – even _Stay_) soon.


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